


And When He Knows What He Wants

by circ_bamboo



Series: he'll understand what kind of gal I've been [2]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I may be inexperienced, but I know what I want from you, with you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	And When He Knows What He Wants

**Author's Note:**

> You know it's a sequel to [I Bet His Mama Never Told Him Why](http://archiveofourown.org/works/446287) because I used quotes (gender-flipped) from the same Billy Joel song. Now it's in your head. You're welcome.
> 
> And thanks to adorable_eggplant for assuring me that the judgemental eagle thoroughly disapproves of this story.

It’s been weeks, one day short of four of them, since Steve finally got the gumption to ask Natasha on a date, and they have had dinner in four restaurants, have seen two movies in theaters together, and went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art three times. They’ve also saved Manhattan twice and Queens once. It’s all well and good--as a matter of fact, it’s been _very_ good--and right now it only looks like it’s going to get better because Steve’s sitting on the couch in his apartment with a lapful of Natasha, his hands almost spanning her entire waist, the full skirt of her dress bunched between them, and--

“Wait, wait,” Natasha says, pulling back just far enough to press a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Okay,” he says, and pants for a moment, trying to get his body under control. But then he looks at her, and maybe he sees something there. “We don’t have to, or you don’t _want_ to?”

She sits back on her heels, or his knees, and, with a look on her face that says everything and nothing, says, “I thought we talked about this.”

And they had, or maybe they hadn’t; he isn’t sure. The conversation had been awfully elliptical, even for the two of them, where she’d reassured him that they were taking this at his pace, whatever that meant. “You’re going to have to tell me if you don’t want this, if you don’t want to--to make _love_ \--” He can say it, he really can. “--because I know I do, with you, and--” _Make her laugh_ , some part of his brain thinks, because she shies away from too much seriousness. “--and God knows I’ve been a virgin for about sixty-seven years longer than I hoped and seventy-five years longer than I wanted.”

She smiles, but her face gets a little sad the way it does when she thinks he’s talking about Peggy or Bucky or someone else from his past. And, yeah, maybe he is thinking a little about Peggy, but more than anything he’s thinking about her, Natasha, in his lap and warm and curvy.

“Are you sure?” she says. “It’s the last time I’m asking.”

“Trust me,” he says, and then adds, “at least in this? I may be inexperienced, but I know what I want from you, with you.” He knows full well that she doesn’t trust him with everything, because she has so much more _everything_ than he does.

She stares at him for a moment, and then a slow smile spreads across her face. “You know what you want, huh,” she says.

He feels something loosen in his chest, and it’s not because of her hands on it. He nods. [Tony’s helpful little internet cartoon](http://xkcd.com/540/) informed him that they’d made it a tad past second base last time, but he’d thought about third base and home plate. A lot. Especially at night.

Her thumbs rub over his collarbones, through his sweater, and she looks at them for a moment before looking up at him, eyes very green, and saying, “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

He blinks at her and says, before he can think about it too hard, “Well, I think I’d like to take your dress off.”

“And then?”

“And then I’d kiss you.” His gaze drops to her breasts. “Everywhere.” He’s definitely thought about kissing her breasts, since he only got to touch last time. He thought about kissing her breasts back when it was definitely not acceptable to think about kissing her breasts, especially with the way that sometimes the upper curves show when the zipper on her suit is down just a bit too low.

“And then what?” she asks, and he looks back up at her face. She’s licked her lips recently, as they’re shiny, and he thinks maybe she was biting the lower as it’s a little more swollen than it was earlier.

But she asked him a question, and he should answer it. “Oh, I think then we can let nature take its course,” he says, and slides one hand down to her ankle, just above the strap of her shoe.

She chuckles, low and warm, and says, “Oh, no. You don’t get to stop there. You’ve taken off my dress, you’re kissing me everywhere, or at least my breasts--now what?”

He slides his hand up her leg, just under the hem of her dress. “I think I’d have to help you out of your hose,” he says.

“Mmm, would you?” she says, guiding his hand farther under her skirt, up her leg, past the turn of her knee, until--

“Stockings,” he says. “And--” There’s nothing but bare, satiny skin other than the garter belt, so either there’s a new kind of almost non-existent underwear he doesn’t know about, or she’s not wearing any. He lets out a slow breath.

“Well,” he says, “I guess that answers the question of whether you want this or not.” He can feel his face grow warm. He looks down at her breasts again, because it’s easier than meeting her eyes when he’s blushing like this.

“Steve,” she says, and touches his chin to make him look up. “I’m down to stockings, belt, and shoes. What do you want to do now?”

“I want to put my fingers inside you,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. His face is getting even hotter; he has to be fire-engine red by now. He doesn’t even know why that one came out; he can think of dozens of things he’d like to do, but if she’s not wearing underwear, well, he’d like to touch her. And taste her, if she’ll let him. The thought makes him twitch in his pants.

Natasha notices, of course, and closes her eyes and makes a quiet noise. He can’t tell what it means exactly but it sounds good, and a little desperate. “The dress ties behind my neck, and then there’s a zipper down the back with a tiny hook at the top.”

His hands are already behind her neck, and if they’re shaking a little, he ignores it. “Okay,” he breathes against her lips.


End file.
